


Wayward pet

by Irit



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Modern Era, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 23:22:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3400076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irit/pseuds/Irit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It looked like a wolf but it has a collar with a phone number on it. A family of three children and a handsome father came for their beloved pet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wayward pet

**Author's Note:**

> It's our first work prompted by [a Tumblr post](http://konoto.tumblr.com/post/111437124382/moder-au-in-which-during-a-storm-thranduil-finds), though we felt inclined to change it a little.

'Father!'  
  
The tone of Legolas' voice made Thranduil drop his knife onto the counter and dart toward the back door. His son was standing on the open terrace in the state of that special stillness coming from trying very hard not to tense up. Thranduil saw the reason immediately, as it stood scant feet from the boy, wet scruff bristling and lips peeled back from glistening fangs.  
  
'Stay calm, Legolas,' Thranduil murmured softly, sliding toward the boy one slow step at a time.  
  
The canine was quite large even while soaked. There were no reports of wolves in the area in the last ten years but who knew what miracles of restored ecosystem could happen deeper in the woods of the game-reserve. They certainly had the deer aplenty, it might very well be that their natural adversary arrived to sort out the food chain properly.  
  
'I am fine,' Legolas answered, and his father heard the truth in his voice. The boy was reasonably wary but far from terrified. That simplified matter somewhat, the predator had to smell his lack of fear ever through the heavy pelting rain.  
  
Thranduil very carefully didn't tense himself when the wolf slightly shifted on his paws, and then something gleamed against the growing dusk and things turned rather for the better.  
  
'It is collared,' Thranduil said aloud to reassure his boy and then raised his hand palm up. 'Sit.'  
  
The big canine cocked its head to one side, regarding him, then sat down in the wet grass. Thranduil let out a breath when remnants of tension drained from Legolas' slender form next to him to be replaced with a thrum of energy.  
  
'Father, do you think I can pet it?' His son was fearless indeed.  
  
Thranduil tamed both his swelling pride and his smile.  
  
'I'm not sure it is a wise idea. However,' he added quickly, before the boy's mood fell, 'we'd better take the poor thing from this deluge. Go inside and fine some rugs.'  
  
Legolas stepped back to the door but lingered, watching his father tap his hip.  
  
'Heel.'  
  
It seemed the dog considered the command for a moment before standing up and trotting across the grassy yard, up the stairs, and onto the terrace. It raised his head to look at Thranduil who regarded the intelligent dark eyes and decided to give it a try. He lifted his hand again and shook it briefly. To his pleased surprise, the wolf-dog shook itself violently, showering both humans with rain water. Legolas squealed in half-indignation and half-laughter at the cold spray and ducked behind the sliding glass door. Thranduil followed at more sedate pace, the canine trotting next to him with dignity.  
  
In the sun room the man commanded their unexpected guest to sit and went to one knee next to it. There was indeed a collar around its strong neck, black on black fur, with a metal tag with "B" on it. Calmly and slowly Thranduil held his hand out to the dog's muzzle and smiled a little when his fingers received thorough sniffing and then a decisive lick. After that he felt confident enough to feel around the collar for the buckle. Legolas arrived with some old cloth and found his father examining the inner side of the thick leather strip.  
  
'Is there a name on it?' he asked excitedly.  
  
'No. But there is a phone number. Come here.'  
  
Introduction of the boy to their wet visitor went equally smoothly and with more licking. Thranduil watched the way the wolf-dog endured the rubbing down before flapping down and turning on its back, red tongue lolling from the open maw, and he decided it would be safe enough to leave them for the time needed to get the phone from the next room.  
  
The line got picked up at the fourth ring.  
  
'Hello?' a young woman's voice asked, breathy and anxious.  
  
'Good evening, miss. I believe I might have your dog. About thirty five inches tall, black...'  
  
'Male,' Legolas supplied from his spot on the floor.  
  
'Male, strongly resembles a wolf, has a black leather collar with this number on it...'  
  
A shriek from the phone made him wince. Legolas grinned when the dog perked up and whined at an apparently familiar voice that was wailing _"Someone has found him!!!"_ to whomever was around her. Thranduil waited patiently for the ruckus to subside. He could understand a household agitation about their beloved pet lost and found. Finally the line rustled and a male voice sounded through it.  
  
'Um, hi? Hello?'  
  
'Good evening. Your dog?..'  
  
'Yes, yes, he's ours,' the man said with immense relief evident in his voice. Thranduil found that voice raspy, yet strong and rather pleasant. 'Can we pick him up, please?'  
  
That made him blink and cast a glance outside. The night was near but the dark had already settled in, brought by the clouds, and the rain was getting heavier by the minute.  
  
'Now? Is it wise to drive in a weather such as this?'  
  
The man exhaled a strained laughter.  
  
'Probably not, but I'd rather brave the storm than three wound up children.'  
  
'Oh.' When he listened closely, there were indeed three voices creating the tumultuous background. 'Alright, let me give you our address then.'  
  
'Wait a second, I'll grab a pen...'  
  
'Here, Da!' came a boy's voice, teenage wavering notes of the timber recently through the break.  
  
'I'm listening,' the man called out.  
  
'It is Mirkwood lane, 17. Drive all the way up and turn left by the blue mailbox with an orchid on it.'  
  
'Mirkwood?' the man tested the word quizzically.  
  
That wasn't unusual. Not many locals knew these particular outskirts of the city, and judging by his accent the man was from farther up North. His children knew, however, if an exited _"Ooh!"_ was any indication.  
  
'Da, it's to the west, somewhere around that haunted old mansion!'  
  
Thranduil smiled silently, listening for the scurrying children.  
  
'We'll be there in about twenty minutes. Thank you!' the man added as an afterthought and hung up.  
  
Thranduil looked at the silent phone and chuckled. The dog whined again, leaning into sitting Legolas.  
  
'You'll be home soon enough,' Thranduil promised the canine.  
  
He didn't fail to notice his son's sigh at that but preferred to disregard it. After filling an appropriate bowl with water and taking a pack of dog-biscuits from the pantry, he left the supplies with Legolas and went to change from his rain-splattered trousers and sweatshirt into something more suitable for receiving guests. Not that he expected them to pay his attire much attention. His own attentiveness wasn't at its best, he realized with an amused chuckle - he didn't ask for either the dog's or its owner's names. Well, that would be remedied soon.  
  
The knock came about a half an hour later.  
  
'Legolas, would you get it, please?'  
  
The boy unwound his hands from around the dog reluctantly and went to welcome its owners. Thranduil knelt once more, secured the collar back in its proper place, and stroked the dog's head between the ears, smiling when the creature whined and batted his fingers for more petting.  
  
'Good boy. Now heel.'  
  
Upon entering the hall with the dog by his side, Thranduil was greeted with an eyeful of three anxious children and his slightly embarrassed father. The family was soaking wet from their dash through the downpour from their car to the porch. Legolas, a thoughtful boy, was handing out towels. The youngest child, a girl, swatted a towel aside impatiently and cried out at the sight of the dog:  
  
'Huan!'  
  
The canine yipped and made a peculiar jump with his front paws but stayed at Thranduil's side. The children's father turned at the commotion and his jaw slacked.  
  
'Would you look at that!..' he drawled, staring at the dog in disbelief Thranduil didn't quite understand.  
  
The man was handsome though, even when unshaven, clearly lacking good sleep, and with his dark hair wet and tousled. The absentminded toweling his guest was performing gave Thranduil a vivid impression of how the man would look with a fresh case of bed head... And it was a very unfortunate timing, to think along that venue now. He glanced down at the dog who tilted his head up and kinked his furry eyebrows at him.  
  
'Well, what are you waiting for?' Thranduil asked the animal. 'Aren't they your family?'  
  
The dog made another of those yips and thumped his tail once.  
  
'Go to them then.'  
  
And just like that the dog tore off from his spot, crossed the hall in three giant leaps, and literally dropped the youngest girl to lick all over her face with yipping enthusiasm.  
  
'What did you do to him?' the man asked with something closer to awe than accusation.  
  
Thranduil merely arched his brow in amusement.  
  
'We dried him and gave him water and some dog treats. Nothing more, I assure you.'  
  
The man shook his head and Legolas grinned, one towel slung over his shoulders.  
  
'Father has his ways with animals.'  
  
And now the man was staring at him as if his presence finally registered. Thranduil had over forty years to get used to being stared at. He was tall and he never hunched his shoulders like most tall people did. Between this and his pale skin and white hair he stood out in pretty much any crowd. And his handsome guest didn't seem inclined to call him a freak as far as Thranduil could judge by the slack line of his thin lips. Thranduil's own mouth curled in an involuntary half-smile, and it shook the man from his daze and back to embarrassment.  
  
'Oh, uhm, sorry, I...' he shook himself, wiped his hand on his towel, and held it out. 'I'm Bard Bowman. These are Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda. And you've met Huan.'  
  
Thranduil shook his hand, callused against his smooth skin, as work-roughened as the look of the man suggested.  
  
'Thranduil Mirkwood, my son Legolas.'  
  
'Wait, what?' the boy, Bain, cast his head up from where he was kneeling to pet the happily squirming dog. 'Mirkwood as in the Mirkwood manor?'  
  
Thranduil chuckled at the sight of his curls standing out every which way even more that his father's did.  
  
'Yes. These lands have been in my family for generations. May I offer you tea? I believe it would be beneficial after a ride in such a weather. Or would you prefer coffee?' he addressed Bard.  
  
'Tea would be lovely,' the man answered politely, his lilting accent momentarily thicker, and chuckled. 'I don't think I can handle any more coffee today. We haven't been plastering posters all over the city only because it's pouring buckets.'  
  
A slight self-deprecating grin looked good on him, Thranduil decided, departing to brew a fresh pot of tea and trusting his son to heard the guests from the hall. When he returned with the tray, the Bowman children were huddled on the rug in the middle of the sitting room, the dog in the middle, on his back with all four paws sticking up, whining in bliss under the vigorous nine-hand petting - Legolas had joined the huddle and Bard was kneeling there too, one hand scratching under their pet's chin. When he heard the gentle clink of the tray against the glass tabletop, he rose and stepped toward Thranduil awkwardly, hesitant in his offer of help when he saw his host's deft movements.  
  
'Please, have a seat,' Thranduil nudged him softly before offering a mug.  
  
He had opted for ceramic mugs instead of fine china - judging by the family's state of clothes and footwear, overly refined things could likely bring more awkwardness. And it wasn't like the mugs weren't pieces of art in their own right. It was that Thranduil doubted the family would recognize genuine Otagiri Kintsugi.  
  
He watched the way Bard took at absentminded sip, his eyes on the happy dog huddle, then stared into his mug and took another sip, careful and deliberate. Thranduil hid his smirk before the man turned to him. That look of near-awe was worth to be evoked more.  
  
'This is good!'  
  
'Thank you,' Thranduil took a small sip from his own mug, the taste blooming of his tongue, an exquisite mix of several teas, herbs, and fruit, potent yet delicate, hot yet refreshing. 'Your Huan doesn't do much barking, does he?'  
  
'He doesn't bark at all,' Bard smiled, looking fondly at the pile on the floor, the children petting away even while gulping tea and munching on cookies Legolas handed out.  
  
'A Saarloos wolfdog, I presume?'  
  
'Um, he's actually a vlčák,' the man pronounced carefully, ''tis a Czechoslovakian wolfdog. A rather new breed, about ten years, or so I've been told. My friend tries to breed them. This one is a bastard, a love child, I mean to say,' he chuckled, 'so he's been left out of the program.'  
  
Thranduil nodded slowly.  
  
'I though his frame is too massive for a wolfdog. Of a wolf for that matter.'  
  
'Aye. My friend works as a live-in keeper in the Strider's nature reserve, heard of it? He keeps a kind of a small farm there, with horses and all. There's a local smith who shoes those horses, and he has a dragon of a dog with him at all times. I saw pictures, the thing's truly massive, an Irish Wolfhound mixed with Yeti or something, and black as a hellspawn. So while the smith was doing his job, Smaug apparently wooed one of the wolfdog ladies and there came Huan. The only one pup in that litter, which was a blessing for his poor mom, I wager. He's eighteen months old now and he just doesn't stop growing. I begin to suspect Estel is getting back at me for some slight I can't recall, 'cause this handful eats us out of house and home.'  
  
Thranduil laughed quietly and Bard slightly started, his tea sloshing against the gold-seamed wall of his mug. Watching the children, Thranduil felt the man's look at the side of his face like a proverbial touch.  
  
'Your son seems to like Huan.'  
  
'It seems so, yes,' Thranduil said somewhat dryly, as the boy in question lent down to allow the wolfdog lick his face yet again.  
  
'Has he ever had a dog of his own?'  
  
'No. He can play with the guard dogs up at the manor.'  
  
'That's different,' Bard shook his head. 'They are not _his_ dogs.'  
  
Thranduil said nothing. He didn't feel he needed to justify his unwillingness to have another living being under his responsibility.  
  
'I meant to ask you how you...' Bard's voice trailed off. 'He didn't scare you, I hope? I mean, he does look like a wolf and you live on the edge of the woods...'  
  
'I saw the tag on his collar,' Thranduil hedged. 'There are no wolfs in these woods that I know of. My son saw your dog first, he called me, and we took it inside from the rain.'  
  
'And he just came with you,' there was no real question in Bard's voice, just that tinge of disbelieving awe.  
  
Thranduil gave a small shrug with one shoulder.  
  
'Animals love father,' Legolas grinned from where he was sitting on the rug, his fingers buried in the thick fur. 'They are never afraid of him and never attack. Oh, I'll show you!' He jumped up and ran from the room, and Thranduil knew better than to try to stop him.  
  
'How old is he?'  
  
'Thirteen.'  
  
'The same as Bain. Sigrid is seventeen and Tilda's ten,' Bard added.  
  
At the sound of their names the children glanced at their father and smiled or outright beamed before returning their attention to their wayward pet. There was a lot of love in this family. Not that Thranduil was jealous.  
  
'Their mother is beautiful, isn't she?'  
  
'Aye, she was,' Bard nodded. 'And Legolas looks very much like you.'  
  
Again, there was no real question, and the implication Thranduil chose to ignore.  
  
'He does.'  
  
The boy in question came trotting back, a picture frame in his hand.  
  
'There,' he gave it to Bard. 'I tease father that nothing has changed since then.'  
  
'But it has!..' Bard almost gasped, staring at the photo.  
  
Thranduil sighed internally and held his hand out for his son. Legolas came easily to give him a tight hug. Thranduil blessed the stars that the boy was still comfortable with public affection displays, despite his age that was called awkward for a reason. He did a good job with bringing Legolas up, there was not a single reason for jealousy or longing from hearing the content giggles and endearments over the happy whining.  
  
'Why on earth would you?..'  
  
'Hmm?' Thranduil realized he had fazed out for a moment with his face hidden in his son's side, lulled by his unique blend of scents, underlined now with a whiff of dog fur. He let go of Legolas and blinked at the man in the next chair.  
  
'When did you cut your hair?' Bard asked softly.  
  
 _"Ah."_ On that photo Thranduil's hair was long, falling in a straight sheet along the side of his face while he was reading a book in a park, his knee bent, his back to a tree, and a squirrel perched on his shoulder - the reason Legolas wanted to show it to their guest. Who, apparently, latched onto another thing entirely and now was gazing at Tranduil intently.  
  
'Shortly after my wife was killed,' Thranduil said. He didn't have to answer but for a change he didn't mind, even if the long-familiar pang made his heart hitch. He didn't know if it would ever fade completely. But at least the man next to him understood - there was an echo of the same pain in the softened hazel eyes.  
  
'Da, can we go home now?'  
  
They both started a little at the tentative call. If Bard was blushing, Thranduil couldn't tell for his tan, and he himself had absolutely no reason to. He looked at the youngest girl, who was shifting from one foot to another uncomfortably, and smiled:  
  
'From the room to the right, second door.'  
  
Blushing shyly, the girl, Tilda, darted out of the sitting room.  
  
'We do need to go though,' Bard said, draining his mug and putting it carefully onto the glass tabletop. 'It's been a long day and with all this excitement... we'd better head home.'  
  
A thunderclap sounded seemingly right above their heads. The kids ducked involuntarily, a shriek came from the bathroom, and Legolas was up and out before Bard rose from his chair.  
  
'I'd say the nature begs to differ,' Thranduil noted with his own glance up. 'I would feel responsible if I let you leave in this abominable weather and something happens. We have a perfectly suitable guestroom for the young ladies and my son can unearth his bedroll for... Bain,' he remembered the boy's name in time.  
  
Bard looked at his eldest children who was gazing at him expectantly, and then Legolas and Tilda was back. The girl let go of Legolas' hand and run to her father to bury her face into his shirt.  
  
'Father, will you let me visit Huan?'  
  
Thranduil frowned but the Bowman children turned their eyes on him with the same hopefulness and Bain nodded eagerly.  
  
'You may if you want to. As for now, I asked our guests to stay for the night.  
  
The sight of his son beaming until he seemed to glow never failed to melt his heart, even if he didn't always let it show.  
  
'May I walk Huan in the morning?' Legolas asked the children excitedly.  
  
'By all means!' Bain groaned at the same time as Sigrid exhaled in exaggerated relief:  
  
'Bless you for that!'  
  
Tilda giggled and Bard stroked her head somewhat helplessly. Thranduil highly suspected it wasn't an out of the common occurrence for the man to be defeated by his younglings' unanimous wish.  
  
'It is decided then,' he smirked.  
  
'I don't know...' Bard began.  
  
'Da, the roads aren't very safe now,' Sigrid said in a perfectly reasonable tone.  
  
'And your car is not in the perfect shape,' Bain added "helpfully".  
  
'And this house is nice,' Tilda put in with an adorable blush.  
  
Huan yipped.  
  
Thranuil laughed and rose to his feet.  
  
'I'll start dinner.'  
  
At the magical word the wolfdog twisted, shaking the children off gently, trotted to him, and licked his hand imploringly.  
  
'You have to tell me how you do that to him!' Bard demanded.  
  
'I do nothing special,' he assured the man once more.  
  
'Probably Huan feels an alpha,' Bain suggested thoughtfully.  
  
Bard scowled at him and at Sigrid who was snickering and blushing for some reason. Thranduil left the room before he could give into temptation to roll his eyes.  
  
In the silence of the kitchen, while awaiting for water for pasta to boil, he listened to the chatter of voices, his son's animated one among them. For the yipping he didn't care much but still, he somewhat grudgingly admitted to himself, he owed the wolfdog a pack of treats. His house was filled with hearty laughter after a very long stretch of stillness, and it felt good. And Bard could do with some training tips. Dog training, that was...


End file.
